Uh Oh … Someone let MessyNessy into Paris Fashion Week

So … funny story. I’ve been hired at the eleventh hour to freelance during Paris Fashion Week for an online fashion magazine. I know, I know, just hear me out. They’re expecting a review for the Dries Van Noten show this afternoon, and yes, against mankind’s better judgement, MessyNessy has been given an invite.

the sacred fashion week invite... and my salty crackers

Okay truthfully, I’m not entirely sure why they’ve hired me either. They know my articles focus on the um… ‘funnier side’ of the [try-hard] fashion-pack and they’ve seen the mustaches drawn onto photographs of said fashion pack.

And as lovely and good-humored as I’m sure my temporary new employers are, I’m not entirely certain the mustache-drawing is perhaps the angle they want to go with when it comes to Paris fashion week coverage.

(Hey maybe I was hired by someone on their last day on the job … payback for being fired and all).

But it’s too late now!! I’ve collected my invite and I’m in!

Free to run wild backstage and pull the models’ pants down…

…free to pass wind next to the Condé Naste editors who never answered my emails [note to self: eat mexican food for lunch]

…free to stick “kick me!” Post-its® on the backs of fashion socialites sitting in the front row…

… all while cleverly disguised as a serious fashion journalist so I can be hired next season to do it all again.

Okay, okay maybe I was sort of kidding about the Post-its® (I guess it’s kind of immature). But I can’t make any promises about passing gas next to Condé Naste.

And I’m personally hoping with every bone in my body that the fashion show turns out as much fun as this one…

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But in all seriousness, I’ll try to be on my best behavior, keep the sniggering to a minimum and produce a great article for my client. I can be a serious journalist ya know– if you pay me … (in cupcakes).

So wish me luck out there in the jungle they called fashion week; I suppose I’ll be needing that extra bar of Weetabix this morning (I know, I like mine drowning in milk too). Of course, I’ll be reporting back to you with my own take on it all… you know… à la MessyNessy (à la are you frick’n kidding me?).

Oh and I promise not to try as hard as these idiots when getting dressed…

The Gozo Trail

I think the reason why most of the hotspot holiday destinations have such an emphasis on nightlife is because they have to make up for the fact that everybody gets so bloody bored during the day.

Going back and forth from hotel bed to sun bed on a manicured beach some 1o feet away from reception– well there’s just no challenge, no adventure in it, nothing to explore…

Knock yourselves out...

I’m not writing this blog to try to convince you to forget the pristine white sun beds and discotheques the size of football pitches. In fact, I’d much prefer if everyone didn’t go to the place I’m thinking about. So that it remains my little secret for a bit longer.

But just as I do in Paris, I like to leave a trail for anyone that happens to be in search of the same thing as me….

I don’t claim to have discovered the lost island of the mediterranean here, but you won’t find Gozo in a packaged deal on ‘Expedia.com’. Nor will you find it in the ‘Top 20 European Hotspots of 2011’.

Having entered the field of tourism rather late, this place is a bit of a blank canvas.

The maps available of the island aren’t great and the local secrets are hidden, perhaps deliberately.

Gozo does not like road signs and so a lot of your time on the island will be spent getting lost.

[Don’t pay more than 30 euros a day for the extremely loyal 4×4 Suzukis available to rent on the island. And don’t be fooled by the basic appearance of this little jeep. He will get you pretty much anywhere.]

(Not the ash tray, the map)

Planning ahead of your day is essential. As I mentioned, the island’s best secrets, are indeed secret and you’ll need to get an early start in order to find them. They are badly indicated on the maps and roads, if at all.

But half the fun is trying to find the best spots on Gozo…

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“Mgarr Xini”

While the views over the canyons en route to Mgarr Xini are beautiful, you’d better hope that you don’t run into another car on this dicey one-way cliff-side track (a road it is not)! Once there, Mgarr Xini is very peaceful and idealic surrounded by a canyon perfect for diving into the crystal clear waters. There’s a family-run restaurant on the beach serving fresh fish and local cuisine.

How to find it:

Follow the road from Xewkija

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“Unnamed Bay” – (and so I hereby proclaim it as “MessyNessyGozo Bay”)

You will be the only people here. Bring a pic-nic because there’s nothing and no one around if you want to stay for lunch.

How to find it:

To be honest, I can’t actually remember how we found this amazing place but the mouse pinpoints this spot in the screen shot below. Drive as far as you can until the trail ends. Then begin your descent to the bay by foot. You’ll need some decent shoes, although I came unprepared and did actually manage to get down in flip flops. Be aware that you’ll have to climb back up at the end of your stay, so make sure to have fresh water on hand.

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The Natural Swimming Pools overlooking the cliffs of the Salt Plains

Be careful, be careful, be careful. As much as those natural swimming pools look calm and inviting, they are also dangerous. Don’t be a gung-ho cowboy like I was! I jumped right in, exposed myself to a massive wave and was flung out by the force and landed inches from the cliff edge. Eeek! So why am I recommending you go? If you stay low, hold on to the sides and have a good footing, it’s the most exciting swimming pool you’ll ever dip your feet into…

How to find it: 

The salt plains are entirely accessible by car – a 4×4 that is….

They are usually well indicated on maps (despite there being very few tourists) to the west of Xwejni Bay, north of Zebbug.

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Comino 

Comino is the island in between Malta and Gozo that probably has the most turquoise water you’ll find anywhere in Europe. You’ll see a lot of signs and flyers around Gozo selling day trips on boats around the island and its coves and caves. Now you have two options. You can either sit on a boat with up to twenty other tourists and see Comino that way or, you can go down to the Mgarr Harbour and do a little homework. You’ll quickly find the group tours have a guy who will be willing to take you and your family / friends alone for a very reasonable price, on a private tour. I recommend you book this for an early morning time slot to avoid the daytime crowd coming from Malta.

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I heart Ramla Bay

Ramla bay is the largest and most accomodating beach on Gozo. With that, you’d think it would be overcrowded and spoilt but it’s far from the case. I do recommend however that you get another early start on one of your mornings and head to Ramla before 8am to walk alone along the stretch of fiery orange sand and see the sun rise over the beach. Someone in our party wanted to try spear fishing before the fishermen scared away the fish. I went along and sat with a book on shore. It’s not a sunrise you’ll ever forget.

Ramla bay is also a great spot for an evening picnic after the sun has gone down.

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There are plenty of hidden bays and beaches to find on this island and I believe it would be possible to fill up an entire month on this small island trying to find them all.

Where to Stay:

Abraham’s Farmhouses might be one of Gozo’s best assets. This hamlet of traditional-style villas (modern on the inside), was built by a native Gozitan, Mr. Abraham. Each villa has it’s own pool, a fully equipped kitchen, air con, several floors of luxury bedrooms, indoor lounge spaces and terraces equipped with additional plates & cutlery, outdoor fridge, sink, BBQ and of course, al fresco dining areas. There is a wonderfully friendly family supermarket five minutes away on foot. Xanghra, the town where the villas are situated, is surely the prettiest on the island and naturally, the closest to Ramla Bay. Airport transfer from Malta, which could be slightly hectic trying organise on your own, is all taken care of by Abraham’s extensive network. Abraham really has thought of absolutely everything. He warmly greets you upon your visit and welcomes you into your villa. After that, he pretty much leaves you to your own devices unless you need him, as if he knows Gozo is an island you need to discover on your own.

Prices on each villa vary. We were a group of six and required three bedrooms. At the time, only a four bedroom villa was available and we still only paid 250 Euros each for the entire week‘s accomodation (with a bedroom we didn’t even use).

 www.abrahamgozofarmhouses.com

Where to eat:

Gozo is not winning any award for its fancy restaurants and spectacular acheivements in cuisine, but you can eat very well on the island. The seafood is always a safe bet and the local wine (especially the rosé) is excellent. If you’re staying in a farmhouse, you obviously have the option of self-catering and cooking with local ingredients to dine under the stars of your roof terrace. Lunches however are usually on the road. By asking locals which restaurants were good and not good, we were sent to Otter’s restaurant and Menqa l’Antika in Malsaforn.

Right on the waterfront, Otters Bistro was great for a fresh seafood and pasta lunch after a long morning of snorkeling. Menqa L’Antika was a wonderful choice for our last dinner on the island; we ate very well (perhaps a little too well) and the waitress was the friendliest many of us had ever come across.

Where to party:

La Grotta, located on the road down to Xlendi Bay is the island’s night club that has been open for over a decade. Sitting on the edge of a cliff, overlooking a canyon, this truly is one of the most breathtaking nightclubs I have ever seen. As for the clientele, unfortunately, I can’t say the same! The local Gozitans do not make the most sophisticated club-goers…(although it’s all in good fun). But if your group heads semi-early around 10pm, you’ll have the nightclub and the dance floor to yourself until about 1am in this absolutely spectacular setting. Definitely worth a visit. Drinks are mind-blowingly cheap too!

Last few tips…. 

• Locals are friendly, ask them anything and they’ll do their best to try and help  you. Although they do have creative ways of pointing you in the right direction.
• The native language is a combination of Arabic and Italian. It’s impossible to pronounce, let alone learn. Everybody speaks English. Thank God.
• If you’re unable, scared or too lazy to scramble over a few rocks to get to a secluded beach, don’t bother coming to Gozo.
• If you don’t drive and nobody in your party does, don’t bother coming to Gozo.
• Remember they drive on the left side of the road here, like the British.
• Locals reckon you can cross the length of Gozo by car in 30 minutes.
• This is not a shopping trip. There is no shopping to be done on Gozo. Fashion is not their strong point.
• Be aware and appreciate that Gozo is a very old and unspoilt island. There are temples on Gozo that pre-date the Egyptian Pyramids and Stone Henge.

[How to get to Gozo: There is no airport on Gozo but there are daily low-cost flights to Malta. From Malta, a car transports you to the harbour 45 minutes from the airport to take a ferry across to Gozo.]

Some very, very Serious Thoughts on Paris and Hemingway

I finally read Ernest Hemingway’s A Moveable Feast this summer. Only 126 pages and one of literature’s classics; absorbing his narratives of the Paris quais and cafés, I felt an unavoidable sense of failure that it had taken me more than a quarter of a century to find the book.

At the same time, I was glad. Reading with my feet up against the window in the back of a Renault Twingo winding through the Alps towards the Italian border, I knew the summer would soon be ending where upon I would eventually return to Paris and wait for winter’s arrival.

I took a moment to look up and stare glaze-eyed at the revolving mountains which I noted were distinctly less interesting without snow. Perhaps I needed Hemingway’s candidness and infatuation with Paris now more than ever.

My first winter in Paris had passed like Spring. I’d spent it floating in and out of warm, yellow-lit cafés, falling in love and falling out of bars converted from old wine cellars.

No doorway with its peeling turquoise paint went unphotographed, no travelling flea market hawking abandoned belongings went undocumented.

But this winter would be different. I would be returning to Paris. Not to London; the city I had abandoned at the end of last summer, or rather, the city that had abandoned me.

I was coming home to a new city. One that if I was really honest about things, wasn’t yet home enough to call home. Not yet home enough to return to and play out the seasonal post-holiday blues.

And if to call a place home meant that it needed to be a city that raised you, well then Paris would never be mine.

And there it was again; that sense of inescapable failure that it had taken me so long to find something.

But then as I came to Hemingway’s final chapter “There is Never Any End to Paris”, sat on the balcony of a one-star pensione in another Mediterranean city, I understood.

Paris was never meant to be home. If I were to stay my entire life, it’s purpose would never be to serve as my home.

Here in Paris, I was to become the person, the writer, the artist, the musician, the lover and the woman I had never known I would be.

I need not fear Paris becoming or not becoming my home. For there is never any end to Paris.

And I’d like to thank this wonderful bottle of Domaine Casanova Rosé, Lana Del Rey’s song “Video Games” and a humbling little Renault Twingo that took me across countries and back to Paris for helping me complete the daunting task of my first post-holiday blog post.

(This post may or may not have been inspired by Hemingway’s often non-sensical babble).

Why Dieting Totally and Absolutely Sucks…

Confessions of a Girl on a Teeny Weeny Bikini Mission

I have to get something off my chest.

But I’m afraid your opinion of me may be slightly altered by what I am about to tell you.

After much careful consideration, agonizing thought and deliberation, I have decided to go on a little d … di … die … DIET.

[Shiver]. It’s so much more real when it’s in black and white.

Okay here’s the thing. I’ve got a date with a bikini on a beach in less than 30 days. I don’t think I’m fat. In fact I’m doing pretty good for my height and all that.

But then I don’t quite look like this either…

So sue me if I want to look a little more like Ursula Andress when I emerge from that water; reaching for a dagger in my waist belt (obviously).

As I sat down at the kitchen table last week, fresh from my morning jog, tucking into a melted cheese and ham croissant, a bag of crisps to follow and a soft chocolate chip cookie for dessert, all strategically laid out in front of me, it suddenly occurred to me that something was wrong with this picture. With less than a month until full bikini body exposure time, I knew this kind of cushy lifestyle just wasn’t going to cut it.

I had gone too far, taken too many liberties. An Ursula Andress-style entrance was out of my reach at this rate.

And that’s how it happened. That was the moment reality hit and I realized it was either me or the croissant (or the cookie).

I browsed a few diet plans online, finding it amusing that many of them claimed their regimes would make you feel more in control, one site even going as far to say how sexy it is to be in control.

But I knew exactly what I was in for…

As any like-minded person might agree, diets are not sexy. ‘In control’ are the last words I would use to describe my state of mind since I started a diet five days ago.

Here’s a little insight on what an average dieter might experience during their weight loss efforts… (along with some mouth-watering food imagery to ogle at so you can really get a feel for just how painful dieting is).

Look in the fridge on day one of your diet. Everything in there will now rot because it’s not permitted on your new diet. Oh yes and you just went to the supermarket the previous day. How perfect is it that you came up with the will-power to start a diet on this particular day!

Peanut butter & pretzel bites (in case you were wondering)

Prepare to be confused pretty much whenever presented with the prospect of eating something. Am I allowed this Low fat Low carb double chocolate cookie dough ice cream fudge cake? It does say low fat, low carb on the box… would they lie to me? Why would they lie to me? Especially at this price. Stand there in the food aisle like a totally obsessive idiot for up to ten minutes, squinting to read the encrypted nutrition label. What has become of you? Who are you? …. a mere shadow…

Brie, ham and apple panini

Food envy– everywhere you go and everywhere you look. Dining out? Hey, you get to watch every succulent morsel of carbo-liciousness being devoured by your fellow diner. The complimentary bread basket? Cruel torture, plain and simple.

The 'Eton Mess' - crushed oreos, fresh cream and fruit

Not to mention deciding what to order in the first place. Presented with a menu, just wait for the little droplets of sweat to start rolling down your forehead as you browse the options. At least sweating means you’re burning cals right? Yeah! Awesome. Your heart jumps for pure joy as you think you’ve found a suitable option for your incredibly specific diet rules and regulations, but no. Read just a little further and you discover that it’s pre-marinated in lard. Damn it. Cry. Because you realize the only thing you’ll be ordering while on this diet is that stupid rocket salad. Stupid, stupid salad.

Salt and Pepper French Toast

Most diets advise you to dramatically increase your daily intake of water to 1.5 litres (just hope that this doesn’t later put you off water for the rest of your life). Now see if you can go half an hour without needing to disappear for a tinkle. If you work in an office environment, your boss/ co-workers will automatically begin to suspect you have developed some sort of drug habit. 

Blueberry lemon cheesecake pastries

Fallen off the wagon? Snuck a little innocent Kit-Kat in there did ya? [Thunder and lightening]. Well condemn yourself to a sudden, overwhelming sense of guilt worse than that time you stole candy from your own baby (I don’t have a baby, but I imagine I would feel pretty guilty). Oh god, oh god, oh god. Pure fear. Visualization begins of how those four sticks of Kit Kat are rapidly transforming into blubbering deposits of terrifying fat, building their evil little alien pods around your waist. Shshsh. If you’re quiet enough, you can hear them.

Beef, sweet potato and raisin Empanadas

Plan to lose weight without cutting out the booze? Haha! Fat chance. Sorry about the pun. And sorry about the really sober nights out you’ll be having while everyone else appears to be riding imaginary unicorns.

Rosemary infused Frozen Peach Bellinis

The dilemma of whether or not to tell people you’re on a diet. Other than your best bestie, who needs to know right? Except if you’re not typically known to refuse something that so obviously looks like chocolate heaven, or your usual Friday night glass bottle of wine, or a slice(s) of pizza on ‘movie & pizza night’ (the list goes on)– sure enough, the moment you refuse, up goes the eyebrow in confusion– “Are you okay?” 

Fresh soft cheese with toasted hazelnuts and chesnut honey

Oh, the humiliation. Either you try to invent some ridiculous excuse other than ‘I’m on a diet’– and this fabricated story will then lead the other person to again, suspect you’ve developed a drug habit.  OR– after years of slandering the latest diet fads, gloating about the simplicities and pleasures of life without diets while friends hopelessly struggled with theirs– just admit the fact that yes, it’s true, that was me lurking around the weight watchers aisle of the supermarket last night. I guess my sunglasses, bowler hat and trench coat in mid-summer attracted more attention than I had anticipated.

So quite clearly, I don’t want to be on a diet. Quite clearly, I think it’s kinda stupid. And quite clearly, dieting sucks.

But here I am, counting my calories… or is it carbs…? Oh please God, just make me look like Jessica Alba in a bikini.

Jessica Alba in a bikini

My boyfriend feels sorry for me and probably can’t wait until it’s over so we can once again play our favorite meal time challenge ‘who can finish their double decker burger the quickest?‘.

Friends who I previously made fun of for dieting are probably enjoying every second of this.

But let’s get a few things straight…

This diet doesn’t have the power to make me crazy or obsessive (repeat five times while breathing in and out). This diet probably doesn’t have the power to make me look like Jessica Alba in a bikini either (….okay then how about Angelina Jolie in the Lara Croft movies? I could settle for that…)

But this diet does have the power to remind me that no one is perfect. And hey, I guess that’s okay.

Too cheesy an ending?

Hmmm… cheese … melted on garlic croutons with … [fade out].

 

Err dude, Your Girlfriend is most Probably Cheating on You

 

 

American Girls in Paris

Summer has arrived here in Paris, which means, so have the American girls.

For twenty-something Parisian boys, this is hunting season. American girls are numerous, they very much enjoy alcohol (as well as the no-age restriction) and they’re generally less intimidating than your average female Parisienne.

French women –who are well aware of this themselves– are generally complicated and slightly nutty creatures.

It is common knowledge amongst most Parisian men that American girls who come to Paris in the summer are searching for three simple things:

1) The Eiffel Tower– along with a miniature version of it, encased in a plastic snow globe.

2) The smelliest, least transportable traditional French food (that most French people indeed don’t even eat), which will not actually get past customs.

AND…

3) A summer love affair with a French boy who could read the small print off a can of peas and still make it sound sexy in his accent.

What’s funny is that the twenty-something French boy wants an American girlfriend for the summer just as much as the Abercrombie & Fitch-loving girl wants a whirlwind European romance. By the second date, she’s most likely to be declared his girlfriend (time is of the essence after all– summer is short and the concept of ‘dating’ is still an unfamiliar one over here). Sweet isn’t it ?

Now the thing is, there are allocated hunting territories for this particular sport. The Parisian boys know they won’t be finding many ex-cheerleaders at the newest, hardest-to-get-in nightspots in town. And as an American girl, you can’t just rock up to those kind of places either and not expect to get some pretty scathing glares from Parisian women all night.

Whether you’re an American girl on her first trip to Paris reading this blog…

… or a French boy who has just been slapped in the face one too many times by jealous lover ‘Marie-Louise’ and subsequently Googled ‘americaine girlz in Paris’

…OR just someone like me who enjoys occasionally witnessing this incredibly fascinating and time-honoured Franco-American tradition–

…here are a few places to go…

American Girls Meet French Boys Here: 

Summertime:

Le Long Hop
27, Rue Frédéric Sauton, 75005 Paris

Little Temple Bar
12, rue Princesse, 75006 Paris

Le Frog and Princess
9, rue Princesse, 75006 Paris

All year round:

Le Bottle Shop
5, Rue Trousseau, 75011 Paris
(Très pratique, car situé juste en face de l’auberge internationale des jeunes…)

Le Violon Dingue
46, rue Montagne Sainte Geneviève, 75005 Paris

Chez Georges
11, Rue des Cannettes, 75006 Paris

The Most Rock’n’Roll Bar in Paris

When I first moved to Paris, I went on a date with a guy who I pretty much had nothing in common with. Like really, nothing. But, to his credit, he had the whole rock’n’roll thing going on and so, off on a date we went (you’ll take anything when you’re new to a city). Sitting directly opposite him over a carafe of vin rouge, I quickly realized that he was more grunge (as in lack of shampoo) than rock god. I had just started to calculate an elaborate early escape plan when he began telling me about the most rock’n’roll bar in Paris I would apparently ever come across; Le Fanfaron.

He spoke of an authentic 60s vibe, the fiery co-owning Parisian couple that played out their lover’s tiffs at the bar, knocked back tequila shots with the customers and played Jimmy Hendrix vinyls all night if they wanted to. Needless to say, I took a mental note of the venue’s name, ended the date by informing him of my upcoming move to Yemen and headed sans the grease ball to Le Fanfaron the following weekend (note: not really moving to Yemen).

Lou Doillon at the Fanfaron

I had done my Googling and found that Le Fanfarron was in fact the favorite bar of none other than my girl crush du jour, Lou Doillon (a.k.a. daughter of Jane Birkin). In a very caché backstreet off Ledru-Rollin (near Bastille), my girlfriend and I found what seemed to be a bit of a local secret. Situated on a narrow residential street, Le Fanfaron is a place that could only be found by word of mouth.

The clientele is a fascinating mix of artists, musicians, writers, travelers young and old, using this intimate but psychedelic setting as if it was their own communal living room. It’s highly unusual to go to Le Fanfaron without meeting someone new, without witnessing one of the bartenders’ sensational alcohol- infused tantrums and certainly, without having something pretty rock’n’roll to tell your friends about.

6 Rue de la Main d’Or, 75011 Paris, Metro: Ledru-Rollin

P.S. It’s Independence Day for Americans on Monday, 4th July. Good theme for an outdoor party?!

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Elegant Men on Bicycles!

I think more men should ride bicycles. I see a lot of well-dressed men in Paris, fresh from the office board room hopping on bikes rather than into flash cars.  I think it’s extremely refreshing and shows that it takes more than a pimped out ride to show you have style…

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So How Did the Dogs Deal with the Heat this Week?!

On the hottest day of the year in Paris, at 37 degrees, I was walking down the street, wondering whether I would actually make it to the end without biting the dust when I stopped and noticed this black labrador sprawled out on the sidewalk. He had obviously been suffering in the heat with such a thick coat, but had cleverly figured out that these metal grills were in fact acting as a massive ventilator from underneath, Marilyn Monroe style. So while girls in skirts were staying clear of the vents, this dog certainly had the right idea and attracted many ‘awws’ and camera snaps from passer-byers.

Awwww.

Anyhoo, that’s all. A light Friday post for you!

Swimming Pools to Salivate Over

The Icebergs in Sydney

This is a little inconsiderate of me.

Posting an article on the world’s most alluring swimming pools right smack in the middle of a summer heatwave.

While that little drop of sweat rolls down your forehead and plops onto your work desk. Not terribly kind of Nessy is it?

Well tough.

I’ve been hibernating inside for the last 48 hours, decorating my room with no less than three high speed, top-of-the-range fans, evian body spray at the ready, and I want to talk about swimming pools.

I want to talk about that turquoise infinity pool that isn’t on my balcony.

At this point, I would gladly drink pool water. Chlorinated and all.

For those of you that think this kind of heat is fantastic? I hope you melt. For those of you on summer vacation already with a swimming pool at your doorstep? I hope your swimsuit falls off when you jump in.

Sorry. But I’m really hot.

 It’s not a mirage. Every cottage at the Singita Sasakwa Lodge in Tanzania boasts its own private infinity pool that looks out onto the vast plains of this East African nation.

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It looks like a swimming pool of cranberry juice doesn’t it? Or fans of Jaws can enjoy the optical illusion of the red tiles in the pool at the Library Hotel in Koh Samui…which, when planted next to the whitest Asian sands, makes for quite a colour combo.

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Badeschiff or “bathing ship” is the most unusual swimming pool in Berlin. It is an old cargo container converted into a pool on Spree River. During the summer it is an outdoor pool with the beach, bar and DJs. In the winter the whole thing is covered, and a few extra saunas are added.

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The calm, emerald-green swimming pool is floating above the Ayung River valley in Bali’s lush foothills. The pool’s home is the Alila Udubu resort, Payangan, a traditional Balinese hill village, near Ubud.

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Art-Deco lovers eat your heart out.

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 An infinity style pool that does what infinity pools were made to do; give you the illusion of a pool that drops into the sky.

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Before the Playboy suite in Las Vegas did it, this swimming pool projecting eight feet over the sidewalk was around since 1927, designed by a famed architect, Adam D. Tihany.

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The deepest indoor swimming pool in the world at 33 meters (105 feet), you can get a variety of scuba certifications at this amazing, solar-heated pool. Plus, the water is so warm you don’t need a wetsuit!

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At 200 metres high, this is one swim you probably wouldn’t forget..

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But the award for the most unforgettable pool has to go to a natural pool. The Devil’s swimming pool, Victoria Falls.

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I suggest you go and splash some water on your face now, you know, to get back to reality.

And whatever you do, don’t go near one of these…

Hipster Camp

Ruschmeyer's cabins

When I was thirteen, my mother sent me to musical theatre camp in upstate New York.

That sounds ridiculous when I say it out loud but it happened.

American camp culture was totally foreign to me. I remember I had never been away from my parents for more than a week, especially as much as a whole ocean away.

The only thing I knew about summer camp was from the second or third installment of the Adam’s Family movies– the one where Wednesday and Pugsley go to camp (and then end up setting it on fire).

The idea of bunk beds and log cabins in the woods, ‘adventure outings’ on big yellow buses and sharing bathrooms with pretty blonde all-American girls (at the time I closely resembled Christina Ricci as Wednesday in the Adam’s Family) … well, it terrified me.

But you know what? In the end, I kind of liked it.

I even went back the next year. And ever since, I’ve kept vivid memories of good ol’ Stagedoor Manor; of my bunk buddy who was obsessed with N’Sync, our maroon painted wood cabin with mosquito screens, the plastic paisley table cloths in the old dining hall, the not-so-secret bushes that lined the forest walls where the older kids went to make-out.

It was no four-star hotel but it was special and still represents a special time in my life.

Now you know Nessy and her appetite for nostalgia, I’ve gone and stumbled upon something to feast on.

This is for anyone that ever went to summer camp as a kid…

Ruschmeyer’s. The name just sounds like summer camp doesn’t it?!

This brand new 20-room hotel, restaurant and bar in Montauk New York is a converted 1950s camp, described as a mélange between an old-school American summer camp and a hippie commune (with teepees on the lawn).

Now before you start thinking Nessy is a total quack, check this out…

[If the video link doesn’t work click here]

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Part owned by hotshot New York designer, hotelier and bar entrepreneur Rob McKinley, Ruschmeyer’s has its carefully selected staff (think Abercrombie & Fitch models) walking around in J. Crew polo shirts and boat shoes.

Don’t think you’ll be served up cafeteria mush here. The cuisine at Ruschmeyer’s is said to rival any New York foodie hotspot, with the folks at Fat Radish behind the menu.

Remember these thingys? What do you call ’em? Can anyone remember?

Under the King and Grove group, Ruschmeyer’s (and its sister nearby hotel The Surf Lodge) evokes nostalgia while simultaneously acknowledging contemporary conveniences, design, and service.

Rooms include complimentary WiFi, a television, iPod dock, and views of the lawns and what is called the ‘Magic Garden’.

Night-life includes anything from pool parties to big New York DJs spinning Florence and the Machine at the buzzed about hotspot bar the Electric Eel or old school fun stuff like Bingo Thursdays. Expect experimental city slicker cocktails like the Gin Dandy, with cucumber and ginger.

A hipper, and let’s just put it out there–  hipster alternative to a holiday in the Hamptons (pun intended). 

For more details about Ruschmeyer’s click here

P.S. If anyone can remember the name of those little braided things are we used to spend so much time making as kids, I’d much appreciate it. It’s been bugging me for days..

Tennis Anyone?

As a result of an evil faculty conspiracy within the sports department, I didn’t make it onto the Varsity tennis team in high school. Being the true sportswoman I am however, I graciously accepted my place on the Junior Varsity (and then dropped out a week later thinking, screw this sh**).

Anyhoo, tennis season is upon us, I spent Sunday afternoon watching the Roland Garros final with saucisson and wine, shouting, “How could he miss that??” at Federer, because obviously, obviously, I wouldn’t have missed that 150 mph forehand slice from Nadal.

Since we’re on the subject of balls (well aren’t we?) and this being a quasi-fashion blog, I thought it might be appropriate to look at some of the summer sport’s style from the early days. Notice how the elegant fashion seems to fall off once we hit the 80s and 90s…

Actress Katherine Hepburn in 1941 doing androgynous but sexy and a model below for a Harper’s Bazaar photograph in 1947.

Fred Perry Campaign 1966

Olivia Newton John 1976

Farah Fawcett 1979

Tennis champion Bjorg BornIs … it just me or was everything beige in the seventies?

Women’s tennis pro Anne White ; setting the trend for American Apparel…

Gotta love Agassi…

Ah, the mullet…

And then came the try-hards…

And ofcourse the inexplicable Williams court fashion…

Above Venus in a black lace number and flesh colored shorts for the French open (guess she was planning to stop by the Moulin Rouge afterwards) and below, Serena’s infamous leather tennis boots for Wimbledon 2004. No one can dispute she’s a gladiator in tennis now.

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Okay so obviously I’m always paying attention to the players’ footwork, their backhand form and all that great stuff but what can really be a corker to watch is if a player goes, well … completely frick’n nuts. Let’s take a look at some of these golden moments in tennis…

John McEnroe’s Greatest Fits! 

If only this guy was still playing tennis…

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Federer Gets Pissy! 

The gentle tennis champ smashes his racket at the 2009 US Open

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Serena has a Word Courtside

The infamous US Open 2009 foot fault

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Player Beats Himself Up

Russian player Mikhail Youzhny is a bit too hard on himself at the Sony Ericsson Open 2008

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Girl Fight!!

Maria Sherapova aims at Serena Williams (not a good idea)

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Girls in Very Little Clothing

(This title will get me loads of hits)

 So the summer holiday is booked and now there’s nothing left to do but countdown until that wonderful moment when your alarm clock wakes you up at 5am to catch the flight that was mortgages cheaper than the flight leaving after the sun itself actually rises, because that’s just how evil travel companies get in summertime…

Naturally, girls tend to start planning their beach wardrobe, oh say, two months in advance…

I’d just like to take the opportunity to thank my Mum for walking in on me yesterday as I was in between bathing suits during my annual assessment of ‘how many 5 mile runs will it take for me to look good in this piece of string?’

I’m tempted to try out one of these vintage style one-pieces the fashion mags have been plugging all spring..

People assume one-pieces are for girls that have hairy stomachs… (or something like that)

Not true.

Boys: Would appreciate your opinion on girls wearing these one-pieces however. Thanks.

Bikinis and one-pieces from the 50s and 60s used to have cones inserted in the bra-top for a rounded cone-like boob shape.

I went into my favorite vintage shop yesterday to find an entire rail of cone-shaped bra tops. I was tempted. What do we think?

 Fun fact: A 4th century mosaic wall was discovered in Greece depicting girls dressed in what looks like the modern-day bikinis.

If anybody must get credit for popularizing the bikini in the world it is French actress Brigitte Bardot.

The image below of actress Jacqueline Bisset spawned the wet t-shirt contest craze.

Basically, the best thing about summer holiday is that you only really need to get half dressed…

Above and below is my favorite 60 supermodel Veruschka. She was an Yves Saint Laurent muse, her most famous image can be found at the bottom of my blogs above “Le Tour”.

Occasionally, it’s also nice to actually wear clothes…

Ossie Clark dress below.

Let the holiday fun begin!

GET THE LOOK!

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Click to shop the swimwear

1.  Topshop blue floral one-piece. 2. Seafolly polka dot one-piece 3. Missoni Mare one-piece  4. Princess Tam Tam Striped retro one-piece  5. Ted Baker black floral one-piece 6. Marc by Marc Jacobs one-piece 7. River Island Splashed Bikini 8. Betty Bikini 9. ASOS Africa print bikini 10. ASOS brown high waisted brief bikini

Click to shop poolside looks

1. Pins & Needles button down skirt 2. Rare pom pom trim floral bustier 3. Karen Millen Graphic Stripe dress 4. Beige poppy print top and trousers 5. Red & White Boutique dress by Jaeger 5. Topshop white cutout dress

DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE YOUR COMMENTS ON:

BIKINI vs ONE-PIECES?

[Images via Condé Naste archives]

The Best Things About Summer Vacation According to Brigitte Bardot

Nope, sorry, I refuse to stop imagining that I live in the sixties.

Let me introduce my style icons du jour who will be getting us in the mood for summer vacation today…

That’s right. Be one with nature. Until the soles of your feet could light a match.

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If you can’t find a boat, not even a row boat, at least put on a damn sailor shirt.

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Don’t be the daft one that flat packs a brand new hat in your suit case.

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Quite simply, because anywhere else other than on holiday, you’d be laughed at.

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As a kid you were probably teased for them, but today, it means you’ve got that whole ‘natural look’ going on. Plus guys find them really hot.

Embrace the freckle.

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Use with caution. Common sense required.

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Whether it’s looking like a wet dog as you emerge from the sea, having a frizz to repel men from all walks of life or simply realizing that wind and long hair is not as fun as they make it look in the movies– we all have issues controlling our manes in summertime but it’s just part of the fun. Experiment with head bands à la Brigitte above, slicked back like Ali MacGraw and Charlotte Rampling below. Just don’t go for the Bo Derek braids. Maybe next year.

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Bliss.